


Climbing the Black Room (of my soul.)

by Everbright



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Animus, Gen, Modern Era, The Black Room, Wordcount: 100-1.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-20
Updated: 2011-09-20
Packaged: 2017-10-23 21:42:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/255305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Everbright/pseuds/Everbright
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Desmond grabs the chance to write his story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Climbing the Black Room (of my soul.)

**Author's Note:**

> Beta’d by the wonderful wanderingflame. This was a misfire prompt over at the AC Kink Meme, and I’ll quote it here – “Can't wait to read more! :)”

The Black Room is more than just the guts of the Animus programming like Desmond first thought. It's made out of parts of his own head too.

Random things pop up all the time, like Sara Reichart chasing him down every recess in first grade to kiss him in front of all of his friends. That amazingly stupid stunt with the dirt-bike and the barbed wire fence six months after he ran away from the Farm, and the first time he ever tasted coffee that cost more than he made an hour; all of it is right there in front of him, trapped in floating white blocks.

The memories flash through his mind as he climbs over the blocks on his way up to what looks like a window high above. It feels like standing outside his own mind and reading his thoughts as a stranger, flashes of sensation and whirls of color with no context. It’s really fucking weird to feel Mike-from-the-bar-in-Philly press him up against an alley wall at the same time he’s hauling himself hand over hand up a pixilated cliff.

The higher he goes, the later his memories. It’s hard to keep going after he relives being abducted by Abstergo, and he stops altogether when he hits Ezio thinking about Cristina in Rome. Reality can get pretty damn flexible during a memory of a memory of a memory; he doesn't want to walk off the edge on accident.

The window is right over him now; he’s almost there, almost out. If his life is a fucking e-book unfolding like a twisted fairy-tale, he can’t wait to read more. He is going to finish his own damn story.


End file.
